


The price is a hand and a finger

by HelpingHanikan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor: The Dark World - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bribery, F/M, Gen, Hurt Loki, Jotun Loki if you squint, Locked up Loki, Loki/reader - Freeform, One Shot, Reader Insert, Thor: The Dark World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelpingHanikan/pseuds/HelpingHanikan
Summary: When Loki left you, and fell into the abyss, all you had was anger and sorrow. But you aren’t only one.
Relationships: Loki/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	The price is a hand and a finger

The ring was cold when you slid it on this morning. There was no sentiment associated with it. Just a heavy bit of metal and stone tossed into a box. Just so happened to have the same color of your chosen outfit.

It, just like every ring should, fit and stayed in place. Staying on through breakfast, through books and daily responsibilities. Sometimes being twirled while in deep thought. Keeping to it’s place and looking pretty. At some point in the day you had completely forgotten about it until it was slipped off.

“This should be enough for the both of you,” You said, handing it off to the closest guard. “Fight amongst yourself who gets the gem and who gets the metal.”

The guard takes it. Fiddling with the ring in her fingers and glancing towards the other guard. “Alright,” She says, sliding it away. “But make it quick.”

The captain can talk his guards up and down all day about loyalty. But cash will always be king.

Prince Loki’s cell was the jewel of the prison. Placed in the center where every guard rotation can see through the shining walls. A permanent location compared to the other cells meant to hold someone for a year at most. After being sentenced they would go to their places of labor or containment. For now they watched; half awake, as you step into the cell and the wall closes behind you.

Loki was waiting for you like nothing was wrong. Standing in the center of the cell, hands behind his back. The entire prison his stage to start monologuing on.

“So nice to have visitors,” He says.

“Shut the fuck up. Hide us.” You have to stop him before he starts the monologue. Otherwise you’d never get a word in. 

His magic is little more than a shimmer in the corner of your eye. Wrapping around the walls, creating a whole other shield. You had no way of knowing what those outside the cell were seeing. Preferably it just be Loki by his lonesome with a book, but it was likely something more dramatic. The other prisoners were pressing against their windows. Probably watching you kneel for him, clutching his clothing and crying tears of happiness.

Instead you just started yelling. Your own monologue of betrayal, anger and misplaced grief.

“I cried for you! I grieved and screamed and wept for you!” There were tears in your eyes that weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be a scary beast of rage. “Did you watch us from where you were? Did you watch your funeral? There was nothing to burn! I wore black and cried over kindling because you were gone!”

He hasn’t looked at your eyes during the entire monologue. Looking everywhere on your person but that area. Focusing on your chest, your exposed collarbone, and how it rose and fell with your emotions. It was as if he was trying to read your heart rate from a distance. Perhaps if he just stared longer could hear your pounding heart.

Instead of being able hear after you finished there was only silence. Finally looking up into your eyes. It should have been his turn to speak. Specifically to fall to his knees and apologize for everything he has done to you.

“You were lovely in that dress,” He says instead.

* * *

Regret was all that came from the first meeting. It was a cape that dragged your shoulders down while exiting the dungeon. It was heavy and stayed on through the night and into the next. Your neck felt like it was going to snap by the next morning.

You had chosen your dress and jewelry based on the cloak no one could see. This ring had just as much sentiment as the first. It was gift from some suitor back when that was all you could think about. Who was it that gave it to you? Their colors were in the band of gray and blue gem in the center. But you couldn’t remember their name.

Whoever they were, hopefully their life was going well. That thought kept returning as you twirled the ring. Pretending not to hear the other ladies in waiting while doing your duties.

“Someone visited the prisoner. I found the jewels in the guard’s clothing last night. He told me it was worth a lot, but nothing else about it.” One of them said, whispering over their papers and books.

“Does the Queen know?” Another asked, neither daring to look away from the group. “She had me gather almost every book in his old rooms. Maybe she’s sending someone for him?”

“You mean, like, as _comfort_?” The first asks.

_Twirl, twirl_ goes your ring. Round your finger and then back again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Our Queen loves him, she’s worried for him.” The third was mostly an audience member, like yourself. Only now speaking up to try and join in.

“And I love my brother but that doesn’t mean I’m sending him whores.” The first says. The other ladies pressing their lips together and getting back to work.

“What were you doing in the guards clothes?” The third asks. Officially ending the conversation.

There was no more talk of the Prisoner and his guest. None that you heard anyway. Instead just going about your responsibilities with your head down. Saying next to nothing the rest of the day until the castle slept.

“Do you need me to split it for you, too?” You snapped at the same guard from the first night. Blue and silver ring pulled off and shoved into his hands.

“Would it be worth the same broken in half?” He asked.

“Not if you’re going to wear it.” You say, genuinely trying to give advice.

You didn’t get to hear whether they’d keep it or not. Stepping inside the cell, the wall closing behind you, all focus was on Loki. This time you didn’t have to ask him. The world shimmering slightly in the corner of your eye.

With the toxic anger poured last visit there was only the need to hold him left. The cape melted off when you got your arms around him. It was hard to tell who was squeezing tighter; with his nose in your hair, inhaling like he was gasping for air. Your arms around his center; holding his back as if he may fall through the floor if you were to let go.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” He says into your hair. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding and heart slamming and says it again. This one joined by a slight sob.

He was smaller than the last time you had held him. Back then he was drunk on power, confident from having the throne and _“finally understanding”._ He hadn’t looked at your eyes during that brief time. He stared at your collar bone, hoping to match his racing breath with your own.

“I never meant for this. I hurt you, I hurt her, I never meant to.” It was his turn to scream and cry. Get rid of the toxic sorrow and let your body take the brunt of it.

Although he had lost weight your legs were still struggling with supporting him. Holding him tightly and creating a small dance:

_Twirl, and back, and back, now sit!_

You only had a few seconds to find the bench and sit down. The back of your knees being more useful then your eyes could have been. Better the fall backwards on a seat then remove the support Loki had.

This almost came to be as you tried to sit. Letting your conjoined weight take you down and onto the bench. Loki let himself fall harder then ever had. His knees taking the blunt without an additional noise to his cries.

Any care he had for appearances was gone as he sobbed into your lap. Blue hands locking into the fabric of your dress so hard he may tear it. There is nothing else to be done but to allow him to let it all out. Your hands, forced to be gentle, run through black hair. And trail over lines indented on his skin. They’d be gone when he was finished; might as well try to memorize them while you could.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be smut, I don't know what happened.


End file.
